


At The Underside Of The Coin

by distanceseventeen



Category: Deltarune (Video Game), Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Anxiety Disorder, Area College Student Falls Into Another Universe, Arson, Attempted Murder, Crossover, Dysfunctional Family, Enemies to Friends, Flowey (Undertale) Being an Asshole, Flowey Is An Awful Tour Guide, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Journey Through The Underground... 2!, Minor Injuries, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-Undertale Pacifist Route, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-01-24 13:56:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21339352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distanceseventeen/pseuds/distanceseventeen
Summary: Flowey didn't expect someone new to fall into the abandoned Underground.Asriel Dreemurr of Hometown definitely didn't expect to end up in another universe.Things get messy.
Comments: 25
Kudos: 90





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt: "a story where Deltarune Asriel finds himself in Post True Pacifist UT's World." Thank you, user Im_Rezzy_Raccoon, for submitting it! And thanks to SunSwirls for beta reading!
> 
> Trigger warnings for attempted murder, references to child death, and references to suicide in this chapter.

It turns out tending to the flowers is not a very time-consuming task.

Strange, isn't it? He watched the king (he will never call him Dad, not while he's a flower, Asgore doesn't _deserve_ that title) putter around for hours on end every day, trimming here, watering there, changing the soil every so often, but Flowey somehow didn't realize that all the man was doing was reassuring himself. These stupid flowers only require sunlight and a tiny bit of water to thrive. It was stupid of Flowey to think he's needed. The flowers have no way to entertain him at all.

So naturally, he goes around breaking things.

It's not as if anyone is around to care. That's what he tells himself, as he summons pellets and fires them into Toriel's favorite plate. It shatters with an unsatisfactory sound. Frisk took everyone else but him to freedom. Nobody's coming back. If he wrecks this dumb, empty playground, what does it matter? It's his Underground. He's the prince of this place. All these things are his now.

Another bowl. A cup. All useless shards. All boring. He tries hitting the next plate dead center. It explodes into a million pieces. Still not interesting. 

He already tore up Asgore's flower bed. _That_ was fun. All those stupid flowers the king worked so hard to cultivate, flying through the air, becoming so much garbage. All that hard work completely wasted. Once the room was ruined, Flowey buried the basement bodies in the torn-up dirt. A monument to royal crime. He's laughed until the tears ran down his cheeks at the thought of it. Now, the entertainment has bled out of the event. Only a stupid ache is left.

He's wrecked more, of course. Tagged the judgement hall with spray paint. Gone through each home in New Home and broken the windows. Ripped apart each stupid machine in Alphys' lab. Burned down the final ashes of Undyne's house. Looted Snowdin for any forgotten toys. There's much more he hasn't ruined quite yet, but he's warming up right now. Smashing Toriel's stuff is easy, if a little boring. A temporary distraction.

(He's always bored. He's got to resign himself to that now. Nobody will come back, and if they try, they will soon learn why they shouldn't have. He'll _make_ them see why they shouldn't have.)

A final smash. He's out of crockery. There's only a pile of shards in front of him, a bitter taste in his mouth. The hollowness in him gnaws with slightly sharper teeth. It's the only hunger he can feel as he is now.

The pillars out in the Ruins. He'll pull them all down. Get rid of all the traps. He could ruin more of Toriel's things, but he's in the mood for a bolder type of destruction. Maybe he should go to Hotland and find explosives. That'll be interesting, right? 

Golly, he really is running out of ideas.

He's studying a pillar, thinking about how to best to bring it down, when he hears the noise. A thud, echoing through the caverns. He pauses. The vine he had ready at the base of the pillar disappears.

He knows that sound. He's heard it plenty of times, through dozens of resets. It's the noise of a body crashing into a flower bed. 

Flowey doesn't even think about burrowing underground. One blink, and he's there, popping out of the earth with sharpened teeth and barbed words on his tongue. "Frisk, I _told_ you I don't want you coming back, I'm not him any--"

And the words, for once, fail.

Laying face down in his flower bed is a monster. Not just any monster. A boss monster. He thinks his eyes must be playing tricks on him, for a single desperate moment, but no. It's not his mother. It's not his father. This monster is all lanky limbs, long horns, a sports jacket emblazoned with the name of a team Flowey doesn't recognize, and one name he does. 

Dreemurr.

A thousand concepts heave across his mind's surface. Timelines. Resets. Frisk. The universe's inherent cruelty. All of them leave Flowey frozen. His roots are as motionless as an ordinary flower's would be. No words come to his tongue. He's left silent.

The monster moves. His face lifts. Something in Flowey gives a painful wrench. Involuntarily, he remembers the hours spent staring at his reflection in puddles, in the days after he woke up in the garden. He'd contorted his face to imitate his dead one, over and over and over, making whatever adjustments he could, trying to make the old him live again, but it never was right. Flowey couldn't capture the eyes. The eyes looking back at him now. Asriel's eyes.

He's speaking to Flowey. Asking questions. The sound rolls right over deaf ears. Flowey can't tear his eyes away. The seconds stretch out.

Memory is such a persistent thing. He'd wipe his mind if he could, overwrite every inch of himself until he emerged a different person. He'd make himself believe he'd only ever been a flower. That the prince and the human had no connection to him, that the king was a stranger, the queen just another lonely old woman. He'd emerge from the mountain and try to be Frisk's friend. But the dust has been hardwritten into his core. He's not allowed to forget. Though he's lived through thousands of timelines, Flowey can't ever outrun it. Every road leads back to a handful of moments. He always ends up plunged back into them one way or another.

Those moments: his heart dragging in his chest. Chara's voice screaming down their connection. Their body heavy in his arms. The scent of golden flowers and dust. Fear. Pain. Terror. The attacks that tore him open. His limp back up the mountain. The moment when he'd failed his family for the final time, fell facedown in the throne room and did not rise again. Hands turning into dust. Dissolving. Disintegrating. Disappearing. 

Bitterness fills his mouth. Those eyes looking at him are so full of light. This Asriel wasn't forced to make those choices. He's clearly never struggled a day in his life. He never saw his sibling die, never killed, never was killed, never was ripped apart and rewired into an abomination, got to grow up, got to be happy, got to _live_\--

Something touches his face. Has been touching it for a while. A hand. A voice, concern weighing every syllable: "Can you hear me? Are you okay?"

This Asriel's first thought is to check if someone else is okay. Of course. Of course it is. 

Flowey bites him.

A sharp yelp rewards him. The monster draws back, cradling his hand. Shock, betrayal even, is written over his face. Good. It's what he deserves. "Wh--"

Flowey cuts him off. It's easy as blinking to summon restraining vines, slam the grown-up Asriel down into the flowerbed. More yelps. More pellets raining down. The moment of vulnerability has awakened something sharp in him. He finds his voice at last, and if it shakes, that's nobody's business but his. "Don't put your hands on me. Ever."

Grown-Up Asriel emits a tiny, pathetic noise. The pellets are only going hard enough to bruise, not to cut, but the pain still has him terrified. "I'm sorry!"

The past slinks back to where it came from. He's only himself now, only Flowey, and the emptiness in him is starving for someone else's pain. He pulls his mouth into his most grotesque smile. It would be so easy to tear this idiot to pieces, but he holds off. He's getting information first.

"Let's play a game. You tell me how you got here and maybe I won't rip you to shreds. Deal?"

Only a whine of pain replies. Flowey quits his attack. Waits. The answer is frustratingly slow to come. The monster's got that deer-in-the-headlights look. Whether it's due to shock or whether the monster's simply an idiot, Flowey can't say. Either seems plausible.

"I… I can't remember how I got here. I think I was hiking?"

"Oh, you think." It is almost beautiful, the amount of venom Flowey's learned to pack in a few syllables. The hole in him gapes even wider. "You have no idea at all."

"I'm telling you the truth! I can't remember. I don't remember anything that happened since… what day is it?"

He's absolutely terrified. Figures. Flowey decides then and there that he's not thinking of him as Asriel anymore. He deserves a dumber nickname. Something idiotic. Trash Can, maybe. Or Fleabag.

Fleabag sobs in a breath. He struggles sharply against the vines. Nothing. "Please. I think maybe I hit my head. Or something. I don't know, I've got a headache, I'm not here to cause any harm. You just looked like you'd seen a ghost--"

"You're wasting my time, friend. Next question. Where are you from?"

"Um… I'm a student at the university. They'll be looking for me, they will--"

"Oh, you think that matters?" Flowey bares his teeth, almost grinning. "Nobody will ever find you here. Call out if you want. It's just me here."

"Someone will track me down. They'll--"

"They'll _forget_ about you, idiot. Sooner or later. They'll move on. And you? You'll stay dust." Flowey squeezes the vines tighter, just to elicit another whimper. "Enough of that. Where are you from? Not where you live now. The place you were born."

"Ow! I'm f-from a tiny town. Hometown, it's called. You wouldn't know it."

The Surface. Just as Flowey thought. The name smacks of the king's doing. His smile turns razor. "And your parents? Your family?"

"My mom's a teacher. And my dad's a florist. I have a little sibling. Please, they'll miss me if I go missing -- they'll--"

"Your sibling. They're human, aren't they?"

"Wh-- how do you know that?"

Of course. He was born on the Surface, and despite how wide the outside world is, he and Chara found each other still. Destiny. Flowey has the sudden urge to crush this idiot right into dust. Fleabag doesn't even know how good he's got it. He's got a Chara of his own still, and he just left them? How could he do that? How _dare_ he do that? How could he simply abandon the most important person in his life like that? Just how skewed are his priorities? Does he not realize how precious they are?

Flowey thinks of his Chara, who loved chocolate, who loved flowers, who knit lumpy sweaters for the king, who read novels that seemed half as big as they were. His Chara, who possessed the sharpest tongue, the quickest mind, the fiercest hugs. His Chara, who woke drowning from nightmares, who dreamt of humanity's demise, who never cried no matter how badly they got hurt. His Chara, who he once handed a fistful of buttercups. His Chara, whose corpse is buried six feet underneath this very spot. 

His Chara, who can never come back.

It's not fair. It's not fair at all. Why should this fleabag get to have the Surface and a Chara too? He hasn't done a goddamn thing to deserve any of it. He's never known the weight of a crown. He's just a stupid, happy monster, who has never realized just how good he has it. And he has gotten everything he wants up to this moment. It's injustice.

Flowey squeezes harder, just to hear him cry out in pain. His smile is wide, wide, wide. Hungry. His vision is blurring. There's an ache along with the fire in him. The laughter ripping out of him doesn't sound like his own, much too wild and uncontrolled. He squeezes again. Something breaks. And all the while, the idiot monster is yelling.

"Wait! Stop! Mercy, please! Mercy!"

Mercy. The word hits Flowey like a bullet in the back. 

He drops the vines like he's been burned. Fleabag certainly doesn't appreciate the gift. He simply lays there, trembling. His stupid whines irritate Flowey's ears. Flowey stares at the ground. He's shaking. He can't see clearly. The fissure in him is wide enough to swallow an entire world. 

Like a coward, he flees the scene.

***

Flowey very decidedly does not throw a tantrum. He doesn't feel feelings, doesn't have a soul, and he's not capable of having the requisite emotion that goes into a tantrum. It's just more destruction. Another way to siphon off the internal pressure. He shoots pellets and lashes vines and lights many, many things on fire, and maybe he screams a little bit, but it isn't a tantrum at all. Fleabag is the one who still has a soul. Not him.

It's Frisk's fault for leaving him here. If they didn't want a ruined Underground, they should have left him another way to entertain himself. One that didn't involve a stupid grown-up incarnation of his dead self.

What kills him -- kills him more, he laughs bitterly to himself -- is how astronomical the odds are. Fleabag certainly didn't get sent here on purpose. He doesn't have Determination. In his home reality, he's just an ordinary monster. An ordinary monster who got caught up in some freakish circumstances and was plopped down into another reality, right where Flowey lives. It seems fate is designed to mess with him.

He tears down the pillars in the ruins. He breaks every single thing in Toriel's house. Once it's in ruins, he sets everything he can inside on fire. It doesn't do nearly enough. No amount of violence can fix the energy coursing through him. The most it can do is satisfy some of the ache.

Flowey hadn't thought there could be anything worse than being alone in the Underground. It turns out that he's wrong. There is one thing worse. It's almost cartoonish, how insane the whole situation is. He almost killed an alternate version of himself. And to think, only an hour ago he was wishing for something new to get rid of the boredom. He's certainly gotten his wish.

He tears up the dead tree in the courtyard. It takes a lot of effort, since he has to leverage all those roots out of the ground, but it's fine. He's just fine. He has all the time in the world; it would be dumb to be frustrated over a stupid tree. When he's done, he breaks it up and tosses the remains into Toriel's smoking house. 

_This is what I get for being selfless, as usual_, he thinks. He's inhaling smoke. It's choking his throat. He might be too close to the fire. He doesn't care._ I should have just gone with Frisk when they asked. Doesn't matter that it would have been tough if anyone found out who I used to be. I'd have avoided this nonsense, at least._

Not upsetting anyone had seemed like a compelling reason at the time. It was easy as breathing to love everyone, to worry that he would end up hurting them. He'd known, with a clarity Flowey is still struggling to recapture, that when he reverted to a flower, he'd likely start being horrible again. He'd seen what he would become again when the power ran out. He'd wanted to save everyone from himself.

He's been so stupid. It doesn't matter at all if he ended up hurting Frisk's friends. Flowey doesn't have compassion anymore. Sure, it would be wrong to hurt them, morally speaking. But Flowey wouldn't empathize with them when they were hurt. He doesn't have a soul; he's incapable of love. It wouldn't be hard at all to stay with Frisk. So why didn't he just decide to be selfish? 

At the very least, he wouldn't have to deal with this stuff.

Mercy. Fleabag is sure lucky that was the word he chose to use. Flowey would have killed him otherwise. He hadn't been thinking clearly. A minute more, and there would have been dust all over the flowerbed. There would have been no coming back from that. Sure, nobody would ever know, but… 

It doesn't matter. Fleabag is just lucky he met a version of Flowey that knows killing is wrong. A few weeks ago, Flowey wouldn't have been uncomfortable with doing it. In a few weeks, Flowey probably won't be uncomfortable with it anymore. He's incapable of permanent change. A basic physics principle: in a closed system, entropy always increases. Without emotion to back them up, all morals eventually break down into nothing.

A sound from the entrance to the courtyard. Leaves crunching.

_Oh boy. Not again._

Flowey doesn't bother hiding his scowl. He turns around to see Fleabag at the entrance. He's clutching at his side, pressed up against the wall, and there's exhaustion in his eyes. His jacket is wrapped around the hand Flowey bit. The way he holds himself indicates he's got a few broken bones.

(Flowey doesn't feel bad about that. He's not able to.)

When he sees Flowey, his eyes widen. He takes a step backwards. Before Flowey can say anything, he runs off.

Flowey looks back at the burning house. His groan comes from somewhere deep down as he realizes what he's done. This house was the only easy way out of the Ruins. Unless Flowey helps Fleabag get out a different way, he's just going to wander around the Ruins until he starves to death.

It's tempting to just let it happen. He knows he can't. Letting death happen through inaction is still a form of murder. He can't let himself be a murderer.

Why does he always end up in situations like this?

He scrubs his face with a vine. If it turns out there is a God of any kind, Flowey's going to break their teeth when he meets them.

Regretfully, he glances back at the destruction he's made. The fires are burning down. None of it is satisfying to him. He should have just gone and wrecked a different area. It would have made his life easier. He would have been able to put off thinking about this for a little bit longer.

With an annoyed sigh, Flowey goes off to find the idiot.

***

It doesn't take long. He finds Fleabag on the balcony overlooking the kingdom. The idiot is looking over the cavern, at the ruined buildings far below. He's tapping his fingers against his mouth as he thinks. It's a familiar tic, one that sets Flowey's teeth on edge. 

He clears his throat loudly enough to startle. "Hey, loser. If you're considering offing yourself, there are easier ways to go than throwing yourself off a balcony."

Fleabag jumps almost half a foot. He whirls, nearly falling over. It would be hilarious if Flowey was in a better mood. "G-get away from me."

Flowey rolls his eyes. "Please. I'm not here to hurt you. If I was, you'd already know it."

He shifts his weight from foot to foot. His eyes dart to the exit. "Wh-what do you want?"

"To help you get out of here."

Fleabag doesn't reply. He shifts his weight again. The kick he aims at Flowey misses by a long shot. When he tries to run, Flowey snares his ankle with a vine.

"Listen, pal," Flowey says. "I'm doing you a favor. Your other options are to jump off the balcony, try to make it through the house I just burned down, or starve to death in this place. Your choice."

In his struggling, Fleabag ends up falling over onto his pathetic face. Another cry of pain. He's jostled whatever bones Flowey broke, apparently. Idiot. 

"Quit struggling and listen to me. I'm throwing you a bone here."

"I'd listen more if you hadn't broken my ribs," he wheezes. He's got tears in his eyes. Of course he does.

"Fine. I'll get you something to help fix it. Happy?"

Fleabag tries to pull his ankle out again. No dice. "Please leave me alone."

"You're not going to make it out on your own, Fleabag. Not with those injuries."

"Why do you care? You caused them. You threatened to kill me."

"I changed my mind. Obviously."

"Why on earth should I trust you?"

"Because you don't have a choice." Flowey speaks slowly, as if explaining it to a toddler. He wishes he could just leave. "If you go off on your own, you're probably gonna hurt yourself somehow and die. So I'm helping you out."

Fleabag hasn't stopped struggling. He's hurting himself more. With an irritated sigh, Flowey summons more vines to keep him in place. "Hey. You're gonna make it all worse. Stay still, you idiot."

Fleabag goes limp. Clearly, this guy hasn't outgrown one ounce of his childhood cowardice. He's a pathetic heap on the ground, hitched breath, quiet tears. Every time he tries to say anything, it ends up coming out a pained, strangled noise. Flowey can't believe he's helping this loser. He's not good at being a glorified babysitter. 

Fleabag's not convinced. The second Flowey lets him up, he's just gonna run off again. Tracking him down sounds like an annoying prospect. He's got to find some other way to convince him. Unfortunately, Flowey knows exactly what will work.

"If you want to see your sibling again," Flowey says reluctantly, tasting bitterness, "you'll let me help you."

That does it. Fleabag cranes his head to look at Flowey. Whatever he sees there, it must convince him, because he says, "Then let me up. Please."

Flowey does. The urge to twist the knife is still there, but he doesn't indulge it. He lets Fleabag get up. Lets him stare at Flowey. Flowey does his best not to make eye contact. He isn't in the mood to see whatever's in those eyes.

"Why do you care about my sibling?"

"Don't ask stupid questions."

"You somehow knew they're human. You interrogated me and then almost crushed me when I mentioned them. I think I have the right to ask about it." It's pretty clear he's scared for them. Scared enough to develop a backbone. Good for him.

Flowey scowls down at a pebble. "I'm not going to track them down and hurt them, dummy. Everything's fine. I'm just going to help you leave."

Fleabag says nothing. Flowey risks a glance at him to see if he's going to try and run again, but he doesn't. He stays right where he is. He's staring at Flowey like he's trying to solve a puzzle. Finally, he says, "God. I can't believe I'm agreeing to this."

"The feeling is mutual."

He keeps staring. Flowey grits his teeth, resisting the urge to just go. "If you can still walk, get up. It's a long way to go."

"If you're going to be my ally--"

"Don't call it that."

"Fine. What's your name?"

"It's Flowey." His mouth is bitter again when he says his name. He doesn't add the childish _the Flower_, the way he usually would. Pretending to be Fleabag's best friend isn't a game he's in the mood to play. "Let's go."

"Okay." As if by instinct, he reaches out a hand to shake. Flowey bares his teeth -- really, Fleabag should have learned his lesson about that by now -- and he withdraws. "My name's As--"

"I don't remember asking for your name, Fleabag." Flowey turns his back so he doesn't have to look at that stupid, too-trusting face. "Get up. And shut your face before I decide to abandon you."

He thinks of what he's lost again. Hands turning into dust, the ability to change, emotions. He can't believe he's doing this. It's so stupid, guiding his alternate self through the empty caverns. A cosmic joke. If Chara still exists in any way, he's certain they're laughing their head off at the irony.

He's hoping the entropy kicks in soon. He hates all this inconvenient morality stuff.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided to expand this story! So, some minor clarification first. Although this story loosely follows Disjointed canon, any references to it will be minor. You don't need to read that particular fic in order to enjoy this one. 
> 
> Big thanks to SunSwirls for beta reading this chapter as well!
> 
> Trigger warnings for thoughts of death, panic attacks and anxiety, and depictions of codependent familial relationships. These are all warnings that will likely extend to every Asriel chapter, so be careful if any of those are issues for you.

Asriel has never felt so cold.

It feels like he's spent an eternity trudging through these woods. His feet are numb. Every breath knocks against the inside of his broken ribs. He's no stranger to endurance -- he ran track in high school -- but this is a new flavor of it. The pain is making his head fuzzy, static obscuring the sight of the snow. He breathes deep to offset the mental fog, and the pain makes his eyes water. He's put his jacket back on, letting the bite on his hand simply stay in the open air, but it's too thin to protect him. He's shivering. 

Ahead, his guide pops out of the snow, disappearing every time Asriel gets within a few yards. Flowey had grumbled while putting out fires and helping Asriel pick his way through the burnt house, and he'd answered some of Asriel's questions, but now he's eerily silent. Asriel has no idea what he could be thinking. The uncertainty has him on edge.

"How much further is this town?" Asriel manages, working the words past his dry mouth.

Flowey turns around, scowling. "Do you _ ever _stop asking questions? Why is there snow, where are we, why did people live under a mountain, on and on and on. Can you just keep your mouth shut?"

"I just want to know how much longer I'll have to walk."

"Oh, you just want to know how much longer," Flowey mocks. "Just keep walking. I'm done playing Q&A with you."

There's a look in the flower's eye that promises ugliness. Asriel gets the memo and shuts up.

Flowey is a puzzle Asriel can't even begin to solve. The flower clearly intended to kill Asriel before, but now he claims he wants to help. He laughs like a demon and has an obvious sadistic streak, but his ordinary speaking voice sounds like a child. He somehow knows about Kris, and had seemed sad when he brought them up earlier. He seems to hate Asriel personally. He claims that this place is under a mountain, and that he's the only one left living here, but he refuses to talk about why that is. Asriel doesn't understand what's happening at all. He's terrified Flowey will change his mind and kill him.

He's thought pretty often about what it might feel like to die. Much as he hates thinking about it, the thoughts always find a way to slip in late at night, curl up beside him, and knife him in the ribs. He'll stare at the stuck-on stars above his dorm bed and imagine turning into dust. Hands, arms, feet, ankles, inwards and inwards and inwards, until his soul crumbles. Now, those thoughts are clearer than he's ever imagined them. He can almost feel the imprint of the vines around his body again. He can imagine, in picture-perfect detail, his dust scattering across the flowerbed. 

What would it be like to die here, in this place nobody will ever find him? What's going to happen to his family? Will they be okay without him? Will they just keep looking and looking and looking until they finally burn themselves out? Will they eventually give up and realize he's gone? Will anyone ever heal from the grief?

He can't feel his feet or fingers anymore. He's shivering so hard it hurts. It's just one more unpleasant sensation among several others, but it's sapping his will to keep going. 

And what will happen to Kris? Will they ever be okay again? His heart clenches the more he thinks about them. He's missed them, of course, but now he wants to see them again so badly it's nearly a physical ache. He wishes he could knock against their shoulder and ruffle their hair, see them smile, hear them laugh. He doesn't want to leave them all alone. They deserve better.

He has to stay warm. If he stays warm, maybe he can keep going. Maybe the fog in his mind won't overtake him. Maybe he'll survive this. Maybe he'll make it home to his family.

It's been so long. He isn't sure the ability still works. His stomach twists, but he's already so consumed by fear that it doesn't matter. He cups his hands together, brings them close to his chest. Concentrates. 

A spark grows in his cupped hands. The heat is barely there. He tries to push harder, make it grow large enough to actually warm him, but his hands are shaking and he's not used to summoning magic and maybe this was a bad idea and-

Asriel trips. He hasn't been paying much attention to his surroundings. One moment, he's trudging along, and the next, he's face down in a pile of snow. Instantly, the fire goes out. The impact wrings a sharp whine from him. Black dots swim in front of his eyes. He's dizzy with agony. It's worse than anything he's ever experienced. Every pulse of his heart rings in the broken places and sends more tears free.

Through his blurring senses, he hears a disbelieving laugh. "Gosh, you're pathetic."

He doesn't want to move. It hurts too much. He's so cold. He can't breathe. Whether it's from pain or fear, Asriel doesn't know, but he isn't getting enough air. He's alone. He's terrified. He can't think straight. He wants to lie here until the pain goes away.

_ Come on, _ he tells himself. The thoughts are fuzzy around the edges. _Y__ou have to be brave. Pretend you're someone strong. Pretend you can handle it. Think about how lonely Kris would be if you didn't make it home. Get up. _

Asriel pushes himself back up, arms shaking, ribs complaining. His stomach promises vomit at some point in the near future. He can feel his pulse pounding in his skull. Slowly, forcing his way through the agony, he stands again. His ribs catch on every shallow breath. He's shaking even harder than before, swaying where he stands, but he is standing. 

Flowey hasn't quit his laughing fit. If Asriel hadn't already hit maximum fear levels, the slight distorted register in Flowey's laugh might do it. As it is, Asriel simply stands where he is and shivers. He doesn't understand the flower at all. He doesn't understand anything, actually. He'd ask if they can simply continue, but the words are strangled by the dryness in his mouth. He's rooted right where he is.

Flowey finally finishes laughing. His face stays caught in a horrible smile. "I've seen a lot of pathetic things. That was one of the funniest!"

Asriel doesn't say anything.

"Don't look at me like that. You would have laughed too, if you saw it! Your face was hilarious!"

A spark of heat lights deep in him. His fists clench. Again, he tries to ask if they can continue. Again, the words won't form.

The right thing to do would be to forgive Flowey's cruelty. All people have reasons for doing what they do, even if what they're doing is unkind, and all people deserve compassion. Asriel believes that deeply. But as he looks down at the flower, so sick with pain and terror he feels that he'll collapse in on himself with it, he can't find it in himself to believe in compassion. He hates Flowey more than he's ever hated anything.

"Let's get going, loser." Flowey disappears into the snow.

Asriel forces himself to follow. The trees are behind him now, and when he looks up, he can see lights in the distance. The snowfall is thick enough that he can't pinpoint the exact distance, but it is close. He just has to drag himself through the final stretch.

When he does finally get close enough to see the buildings, though, he stops. Despite the lights strung over various fixtures, the buildings are all dark inside. Many windows are broken. One shop even has the door torn off, and left carelessly in the cold. Various objects have been dragged out and broken in the street. He can see that one small structure nearby has been burnt to the ground. Flowey told him that nobody lived here anymore, but this looks like there was some kind of riot. He has the sudden, terrifying conviction that whatever happened here was deadly.

"Right here," Flowey says. The building near him has the words "Snowed Inn" carefully stenciled above the entrance. Compared to the others, it looks relatively untouched. "You're so slow. I thought you did sports or something."

Asriel doesn't reply. He looks around more, searching for some clue to whatever happened, but there's nothing. No sign of whatever drove the people out. No sign if any of the original inhabitants are even alive.

Except one. 

Flowey's vines are strong; Asriel knows it firsthand. He clearly has a sadistic streak. He's more than capable of creating this destruction. Is he capable of murder? Did he kill everyone here? Or did he just drive them out? Does it even matter? 

The maybe-murderer's faint smile fades into another scowl. "Hurry up, Fleabag. Don't just stand there like an idiot."

He should probably run. Get far away from here, do his best to survive on his own. His gut tells him he won't get far. And he needs help to find his way out. He has no choice. He has to stay here, with this awful creature, and do whatever he's told. For a second, he thinks he'll vomit, but the moment passes. He swallows, forcing himself to be brave. He's going to do what he can to survive this.

He trudges over to the building. The door's unlocked. Inside, a darkened, dirty lobby greets him. There's one broken window, but otherwise, there isn't a lot of destruction. It just looks abandoned.

"There's a light switch on the wall to your right," Flowey tells him. "Thermostat behind the counter, beds upstairs. Go take a nap. I'll bring you medical supplies. Got it?"

A chance to be alone. He doesn't have to endure that thing's company. It's a small relief, but it's nice to feel, all the same.

"Okay," Asriel mumbles. He steps inside and pulls the door closed behind him. It's only slightly warmer inside. The lights reveal that the room is dingier than he thought. It takes a few fuzzy minutes, but he manages to get the thermostat cranked up as high as it will go.

The stairs are an ordeal. He has to pause several times on his way up. At the top, he selects a random room. It's also dingy, but there's a bed, and it has sheets and blankets. Asriel kicks his wet shoes and socks off and gets in. The mattress is hard. The sheets are thin. He's still shivering. His ribs still hurt. Terror still churns up his stomach. He's cold, scared, in pain. He's in an unfamiliar place, at the dubious mercy of a possible killer, and he's not sure he'll ever make it home.

Despite all that -- or maybe because of it -- he's out in just a few minutes.

***

_ "Your mother wants you to be at home with her for the evening," Dad says. "I understand it, of course, but are you willing to come by and see me before you leave in the morning?" _

_ "Sure." _

_ They've just finished unloading a new shipment of gardening supplies and mulch. Asriel's back hurts, and he's had a headache since he woke up this morning, but he tries to enjoy the moment with his dad anyway. It might be the last he gets for a while. _

_ "I'm glad. I'll miss you when you go." _

_ "I'll call home every week. You know that." _

_ "I know. It just… will not be the same as having you here. You always brighten everything around you. I worry that I'll be a bit lonely without your company. Kris so rarely stops by anymore." He exhales. "Children always grow up and grow away from their parents. It's inevitable that I should be left behind. But it hurts, all the same, knowing they want nothing to do with me." _

_ "Aw, Dad," Asriel says quickly. He can sense the incoming downward spiral, and is eager to stave it off. "You won't be left behind. I promise. Kris is just busy. They'll come by soon." _

_ "I don't know, Asriel. You are always so busy. But you always have time to see me. If they hate me because of the divorce, I do not blame them. I deserve this loneliness." _

_ "That isn't true. I know things look bad sometimes. But you aren't alone. Nobody ever is." Asriel reaches over and gently squeezes Dad's hand. "You've gotta keep your chin up while I'm gone, okay? Keep buying groceries. Keep taking care of your flowers. Talk to Mr. Holiday more often." _

_ If anything, Dad looks more despondent. "He seems to be getting worse. The doctors don't know what's wrong with him. There's a chance I could lose him, too." _

_ Wrong thing to say. Asriel's stomach clenches. He takes a deep breath and tries to find a better reassurance. He can't let his dad down. _

_ "Then I guess that's all the more reason to talk to him," he finally says. "Spend time with him because you don't know how long you could have left. _ Carpe diem _ , you know?" _

_ It's a canned set of words. He can't think of anything better. Maybe he should have said something that brought more hope. Maybe he should have told his dad that Mr. Holiday will be fine. This will probably make things worse. Asriel should-- _

_ But Dad perks up. He squeezes Asriel's hand. "That is a good idea. Perhaps if I lift his spirits, it will be easier for him to get better." _

_ "Yeah. Definitely. You should bring him flowers again tomorrow. I think he'll like that." _

_ "Yes. And maybe I should find a way to make tea for him. His being in the hospital should be no reason for him not to have a nice cup of something herbal, right?" _

_ "I think that's a wonderful idea." Asriel smiles. It's stiff. _

_ "I will invite Kris, too. If they want to come." He falters, the momentary happiness banished. "You're certain they aren't avoiding me on purpose?" _

_ "Yes. I'm your kid. I wouldn't be kidding you, now would I?" _

_ Dad finally laughs. "Your puns are worse than your mother's." _

_ "They're my specialty." _

_ Asriel always shines his brightest when others are depending on him. It's good to feel needed, to know his presence is what keeps people going. But that gleam is absent today. He tries to find some happiness in knowing he's made his dad feel better, but all he gets back is the pulsing in his head. He's tired. _

_ "I need to go now. I promised Kris I'd grab lunch with them. One last time before I go, you know?" _

_ "All right." The hug he gives Asriel is tight enough to knock him off guard. Dad's always given great bear hugs, and Asriel generally loves them, but this one is a little too tight. He suppresses the wince and hugs back. _

_ "I am so lucky to have a child like you," Dad murmurs. "Even when the world is falling apart, you're always there, unbreakable. I'm so proud of the young man you've become. You're going to be amazing at college." _

_ Asriel hesitates, head pounding. He opts for lightness, after a little too long deliberating. "Don't go saying goodbyes yet. I won't be going until tomorrow. You can tell me how awesome I am later." _

_ Dad laughs again. He lets Asriel go. "I will. I love you." _

_ "Love you too." _

_ He turns his back and leaves the shop. For an unguarded moment, out there in the sunshine, he is glad. Glad to be leaving this stale town, glad that he no longer has to be the constant carrier of his dad's burdens. The relief is so strong it nearly swallows him whole. He forgets, for a moment, how bad his headache is. _

_ And then he's himself again, and he's ashamed of himself. It's unkind to think like that. He should be worrying about how he's going to keep taking care of Dad from afar, not feeling happy about the distance. It's a coward's move to shrink from responsibility. Asriel should be better than that. _

_ The relief still whispers that he's lucky to have finally slipped the leash. _

***

The room is hot. He's kicked off the blankets. He stays where he is for a moment, blinking at the unfamiliar ceiling. The plaster is cracked in a few places. Ugly. He doesn't recognize it. Where is he?

"Oh, good," a childish voice chirps. "I was getting bored."

Asriel jumps. He sits up far too fast, fast enough to hurt his ribs, and spots Flowey on the floor. The flower is snickering. "Wow, you're pretty twitchy."

As the memories of the past few hours come back to him, all he can do is stare. Flowey's in a little flowerpot, one that seems a bit too small for a flower of his size. There's a pile of items stacked near him on the floor. Asriel spots a medical kit, what looks like a bag of pastries, and a water bottle. A book is open on the rug in front of Flowey. While Asriel watches, a pair of slim tendrils reach out and close the book. The realization that Flowey's been watching over him like a nurse on duty is so strange Asriel doesn't know what to do with it.

"I patched up that bite on your hand while you were passed out," Flowey tells him. His smile is more self-satisfied than friendly, but at least there's not as much hatred in it. "You're welcome."

Belatedly, Asriel looks down at himself. There's a bandage imperfectly wrapped around his right hand. He can feel the magic contained in the item soaking into his injury. Compounded with the speed at which his body generally heals, he guesses it's already completely scabbed over. It doesn't hurt anymore.

Flowey kept his promise. That should make Asriel feel a bit better, but he still can't get rid of all of his apprehension. What if he gets annoyed again and decides keeping Asriel alive isn't worth it? What if he's just setting Asriel up to make the kill sweeter? He's heard of serial murderers who have gained their victim's trust first. What if that is what Flowey's really planning? What if--

_ Focus, _ Asriel tells himself, trying to veer out of the downwards spiral. He makes the conscious choice to unclench his muscles. _ It's wrong to believe the worst of people. You're better than that. You imagined a lot of things when you were scared, but you have no proof any of them are true. Whatever you did to make him dislike you, you can fix it. Just be nice to him until he realizes he was wrong to be cruel. _

He swallows down his residual hatred and tries to show genuine gratitude. "Thanks for that. It feels much better."

"Yeah, yeah. Here. Catch." Another tendril wraps around the pastry bag. Asriel catches it, and the water bottle that follows. He checks in the bag. Cinnamon rolls shaped like bunnies. They look kind of cute.

"Eat up. The sooner you're healed, the sooner I can be rid of you."

Asriel obeys. The food is a little stale, but it's still good. He tries to ignore his stomachache. He needs the energy to heal. He can handle more pain.

"Good." Flowey eyes him speculatively. He tries not to shiver. He has the uncomfortable sensation that Flowey is trying to dissect him down to the marrow with that look. "Hey, since you wouldn't shut up with the questions on the way here, I'm sure you've still got a lot that haven't been answered."

"Yeah…?" 

"Now, I don't know if you remember, given how stupid you seem to be, but I'm alone down here. There's not a lot in the way of entertainment. So I'm in the mood to play a game with you. I'll answer your questions. In exchange, you tell me stories."

It's an easy, if strange, request. Asriel nods.

"Good. You first."

Asriel considers. Hesitantly, he asks, "What happened to this town?"

"Me, obviously." Flowey grins. His mouth stretches wider than should be possible, revealing blackness inside. His sclera turn black, pupils white. "All the people moved away. I got bored and decided to wreck stuff. You should try it sometime! It's really fun."

He's deeply unnerved by that expression, but he tries to stay calm. "Why'd they leave?"

"Aw, you scared something hurt them? Nah. They got their happy ending." His expression reverts to a regular, if sharp, smile. "Time for you to tell me a story, Fleabag. Do you know about the war between humans and monsters, a few centuries back?"

"Yeah. We discussed it in my history class in high school. I don't remember the specifics very well, though."

"Tell me how it ended."

It's a story every child knows. He doesn't have to think hard. "It was the Angel's avatar. They rose up as an ambassador of peace to both humanity and monsterkind. Their guidance ushered in a new era of peace."

"Interesting."

"You don't know this story at all?"

"It went pretty differently in our war. Y'see, ninety-nine percent of monsters were slaughtered in this world! It was awfully gruesome. In the end, the final survivors surrendered. Humans are kinda cruel, so they shoved us under a mountain and called it mercy. There's been a barrier keeping us here for a really long time. It only came down recently. Everyone hurried up to the Surface to get a happy ending! It was all very feel-good and nice."

"I've… never heard that."

"Oh, you wouldn't have. This is an alternate timeline to the one you're from." 

Asriel stares at Flowey. "You're joking, right?"

"Nope!" He smiles. It's a grotesque parody of glee. "You need proof? Take this."

He chucks his book at him. Asriel ducks instinctively. The tome bounces off the headboard. When he picks it up, he sees the words _ A Brief History of Monsterkind _ on the front. Gerson Boom is listed as the author.

He knows that name from somewhere. Doesn't he? He can't place it. 

"Hurry up. Page six hundred fifty-nine has what you need."

Asriel finds the page. There's an illustration of seven human shapes standing in a circle around a hole in the ground. Their hands are linked.

_ The seven human mages created a powerful barrier to trap us underground, _ the text reads. _ Not even the collective force of all monsterkind would be strong enough to break it. We did our best to accept our lot, and began to build cities. The first was Home… _

Asriel can't read anymore. He's getting a headache. He puts the book down.

"You get it now?"

"This must be a prank. You're making it up. You--"

Flowey scoffs. "You know better than that. Accept it, Fleabag. You're not in the same soft world you came from. And you're not getting home any time soon, either."

Asriel presses his hands against his eyes. He tries to breathe evenly. A single book isn't proof. Can't be proof. He just won't accept it until he's seen more. Never mind that he's clearly underground, in a place he logically should have heard about before now. Even if the book looks like an official textbook, it would be easy to make a fake. The whole town here could be fake, actually. The whole experience might simply be a very elaborate prank. It can't be true, because if it is, Asriel's stuck here with no way to get home, no way to contact his family, no way to be certain that he's going to be okay--

Something pings off the side of his skull. He flinches, letting out a soft yelp, and instinctively drops his hands.

Flowey's perched on a bedpost nearby. His fierce scowl is back. "Snap out of it. I am _ not _ gonna deal with your panic attack, so just suck it up and learn to handle it."

Asriel's first unthinking instinct is anger. Before he has time to restrain himself, he snaps, "I wasn't going to have a panic attack."

"You were hyperventilating. I'm not stupid. I know what a panic attack looks like."

Asriel realizes how fast his breaths are coming. His ribs are hurting. His claws are tearing holes in the bedsheets. He closes his eyes again and tries to breathe slower. 

Kindness. He's got to show kindness. Flowey's trying to help, in his own way. He shouldn't be angry about that. It's wrong to hate someone who was just trying to help.

"Thanks," he finally says.

"I'm not doing it to be nice, idiot. I'm doing it 'cause it's _ annoying _when people completely break down."

Asriel chokes both his anger and his remaining panic before they can reach his tongue. He breathes in, counts off _ one, two, three, _breathes out. Slowly, his hands unclench.

"Eat the rest of your food," Flowey orders him. "Maybe then you can stop freaking out."

Food. Seems like a good idea. Asriel tries to quiet the churning in his belly. He grabs another pastry. It tastes like cement.

Okay. He decides he's not going to think about whether Flowey's right about this being an alternate world. Right now, he just has to focus on getting out of here. When he gets out of this mountain, he can find someone who can help him get home. He clings to that hope as tight as he can.

He's just got to heal. He'll heal, and then he'll leave. He'll be okay. He has to be.

"Hey," Flowey says after a minute. "I'm bored. It's your turn to tell me a story now."

"I… didn't ask a question. Also, you wanted me to eat."

He scowls. "I'm in charge. Obviously. Just tell me something. Not a fairy tale or anything like that. Something cool about your world."

Asriel starts to revise his opinion of Flowey. He'd been terrified of him before, and probably rightly so, but Flowey now seems more like a bratty child than anything else. He's creepy, but Kris was also pretty morbid when they were little, so it's not completely unheard of. He certainly sounds and acts like a kid. A spoiled, unsupervised, sadistic kid, with deadly powers and motives Asriel doesn't understand, but a kid nonetheless.

The thought makes Asriel feel a little bad for him. If he is actually a kid, it must be horrible for him to be all alone down here. It might be why he's so cruel. He's probably decent underneath, given that he's helping Asriel despite his clear hatred. Asriel resolves again that he's going to swallow his anger and be kind to Flowey. Maybe the flower just needs some guidance. Asriel can do that.

He clears his throat. "Okay. Do you want to hear about some cool science stuff?"

"'Cool science stuff.' Can you try not to sound like a total loser?"

"Sorry."

Flowey rolls his eyes. "Whatever. Go ahead."

"Okay." Asriel takes a deep breath and tries to smile. He tries to pretend he's home, where he doesn't need to be anxious, and that he's explaining this to Kris. "So there have been some discoveries about black holes lately…"


End file.
